The Sign


At the beginning was the wind,

Then the rain

And the moment was made by itself

In cohorts of fear and shadows

At the border between night and day

In an uncertain confluence with luck.

Then, even the saints

Have returned among us,

Being white,



Having fish faces,

With hair curls of grass,

With bodies of flint;

Their immeasurable pride,

Of course, the pride betrays them.

Ecaterina Staicu, Semnul

translated from Romanian by Marcel Rus